


Wisconsin is for lovers

by badtemperedchocolate



Category: Bon Appétit Test Kitchen RPF, Chef RPF
Genre: F/M, Midwest, is best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:27:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22141765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badtemperedchocolate/pseuds/badtemperedchocolate
Summary: It's probably the most romantic place on Earth.
Relationships: Brad Leone/Claire Saffitz
Comments: 20
Kudos: 123





	Wisconsin is for lovers

**Author's Note:**

> as always, this is 100% fiction.

Someone thinks they’re _hilarious_ when Claire gets approved to come along on a location shoot for _It’s Alive._

“Get it?”

She gets it. “Please stop.”

“But _Claire_. It’s your name!”

“I know. I got it the first time.”

Brad grins at her toothily, nudging her with his elbow. “Oh, Claire! This is gonna be _great._ ”

Claire groans, covering her face with her hands. She supposes it’s not Wisconsin’s fault. It’s not really fair to blame an entire state for something like this. But as nice as this old German bake shop they’re visiting is, she’s sure, it just seems unnecessary that as soon as she gets to come along, they _have_ to go straight to Eau Claire.

* * *

She made the mistake of explaining the translation to him on their way through the airport, and Brad’s been referring to it as Water Claire non-stop ever since.

* * *

Kevin draws the short straw, so he gets to drive.

With Brad narrating for the camera, they drive down Claire Street, turn onto Claire Avenue, pass several Claire houses and a Claire playground, before she tells Hunzi (loudly enough for the camera) that she’s going to murder Brad.

“I’ll help you hide the body,” Hunzi offers cheerfully.

“Excuse me, I can _hear you_ ,” Brad complains.

“We know,” Hunzi tells him. “The viewers will understand.”

Brad twists in his seat to stare at the camera, pointing with a serious face. “If I disappear, folks, don’t trust Claire Saffitz, because she’s definitely guilty.”

“What?” She laughs at that, rolling her eyes. “ _Brad_.”

“Don’t trust that innocent face, people of the internet,” he insists. “She’s so vicious, you have _no_ idea.”

Hunzi grins. “We’ll make an episode out of it. ‘Pastry Chef Establishes an Alibi.’”

Brad thinks that’s frankly a little rude, but Claire’s still laughing, and her eyes are sparkling, so he really can’t complain too much.

He stops naming things for her, though. Just in case.

* * *

Brad’s the fermentation guy, but apparently the video department thinks Claire’s pure gold for boosting his views, so she joins him for the brewery visit. They have their own respective videos later – him making beer, her at the bakery – and then they’ll cap it all off together on Friday at the town’s Oktoberfest party.

As the van pulls into the parking lot, the door opens. Mrs. Fischerkeller, who co-owns the brewery and bakery along with her husband, is a petite woman with soft white hair pinned back neatly from her face. She’s wearing a sweatshirt that says _Grandma’s Kitchen Is The Best!_

“Brad, right? And Claire, and you two must be Matt and Kevin. Welcome!”

Brad beams, clasping the hand she offers. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Fischerkeller.”

“Oh, please, hon. Call me June.” She beams at them. “Michael’s inside. We’re so glad to have you folks here!”

* * *

Claire’s amazed – and amused – to discover that Michael Fischerkeller is Brad.

Well, he’s Brad plus thirty years. And close-cropped, iron-grey hair. And a strong Wisconsin accent. But he has the same broad shoulders, the same quick smile, the same warm handshake.

“Welcome to Honeysuckle Brewing, folks.”

* * *

Claire’s not even one hundred percent sure why she’s here. Not that she’s not enjoying it, of course; the brewery is beautiful and well-maintained, and Michael’s pride in it shines through with every word.

But this is Brad’s world, not hers. He asks a hundred thousand questions about hops and yeast and leavening agents and fermentation times and enzymatic processes, and a decent amount of it goes over her head, if she’s being honest.

Brad, however, seems to think her input is crucial, and constantly includes her in the conversations. “Isn’t this awesome, Claire?” He peers into one of the vats. “Never seen one shaped this way.”

“It’s very cool,” she offers. Because really, it is. She’s already tasted the beer, and she knows that whatever Michael’s doing, it’s working. “Michael, how’d you get started in this?”

“Uh – well, semi-legally,” he admits with a sheepish grin. “My Pops had an old still in the attic, dated back to the Prohibition years. I fixed it up and got it working again when I was in college – I was studying chemical engineering, so, y’know, I always needed a drink – and I just started tinkering around with recipes to see what I could make.” He shrugs. “Eventually, I got good at it. I almost got arrested for selling alcohol without a license, but the cop gave me a warning and told me to just get the license and do everything on the up-and-up. So, well, here I am.”

“ _So_ cool.” Brad looks around at the shining steel and sturdy beams of the brewery. “Now – you designed this, right? You said you designed all your equipment from scratch here?”

“Yep!” Michael pats one of the empty vats. “The old still worked, but I kept finding little things I wanted to change. So when it came time to build this place, I re-worked everything to make it more efficient. Gotta put that education to work somehow.”

“Okay, okay. I have another question.” Claire looks up at Michael. “Where does the name come from?”

“June.” Michael smiles fondly. “Honeysuckle’s the flower for the month of June. And she’s always loved it; even when we first got married, she grew it outside our apartment. So I named it for her.”

Claire lets out a soft _aww_. “That’s so _sweet_.”

“Frickin’ adorable,” Brad agrees.

“Well, thanks.” Michael shrugs. “May not be the most romantic guy, but I have my moments.”

* * *

In the spacious, sunlit bar, Claire and Brad sit at one of the gleaming oak hightops. Michael presents them each with a flight of perfect, tiny little glasses in half a dozen hues of golden and amber and deep brown.

“Ah, man, look at this! Ya even got the flowers painted on the trays here!” Brad shakes his head. “Gotta hand it to you, Michael. This is great.”

“It’s all about the details, young man.” Michael nods sagely. “Now come on, try ‘em. Let’s see what you think.”

The beer’s excellent – they knew it would be; after all, that’s why they’re here – and Michael nods, smiles, accepts their praise graciously, and Claire doesn’t usually consider herself a beer person, but when it’s like this? – she can be.

* * *

After they wrap for the day, Michael sends them back to the hotel with a case of lager and strict instructions to share with Hunzi and Kevin, who immediately and loudly pronounce him their favorite.

* * *

Claire’s phone buzzes as she’s brushing her teeth that night, and she pauses, toothbrush in her mouth as she reads Brad’s text. _you still up?_

She wipes toothpaste foam off her hands before responding. _Yeah, but not for long_.

_oh okay_

She goes back to brushing her teeth, but then her phone buzzes four times before she can spit out the toothpaste, rinse, and pick up her phone again.

_hey today was cool_

_wasn’t the brewery awesome??_

_i’m glad you’re on this trip_

_Delany wouldve tried to tip a cow by now_

Claire chuckles softly to herself. _Thanks for letting me tag along. See you in the morning._

She crawls into bed, switches off the light, and sees one more message.

_sweet dreams Half sour_

* * *

The next morning dawns cloudy and cool. Brad’s in the hotel lobby early, finishing a bagel, when to his surprise, Claire walks in and goes straight for the coffeemaker.

Brad wipes his hands and tosses his napkin in the trash nearby. “Heya, Claire. Kinda early for you, ain’t it?”

She huffs, eyeing her cup as it fills. “My body’s still in the Eastern timezone. I woke up against my will.”

He eyes his watch. “We got, like, two hours before we gotta leave.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’s crazy how much time there is when you’re not forty-five minutes late.”

“Hey!” She fixes him with a glare, but it’s half-hearted at best. “That happened _one_ time.”

“It sure did, Half-Sour. And it’s on film for posterity.”

Claire makes a face but takes her seat across the table from him, sipping her coffee gratefully. “I don’t know how you live without coffee, Brad. I’m useless without it.”

“You ain’t useless by a long shot, Claire.” She looks up, startled, and Brad realizes – oh, that was a little too honest. “But, y’know. You _are_ kinda homicidal sometimes.”

She thinks for a moment. “You’re not wrong.”

Brad glances at his watch again. He’s feeling antsy. He can’t handle being still, and he’s done with breakfast. Time to move. Time to do something. “Wanna go for a walk? It’s so nice out.”

He fully expects her to say _No_ , because she’s an introvert (with a fully-scheduled day ahead) and she just sat down and there’s no reason she shouldn’t enjoy her peace and quiet, but she surprises him.

“Sure.”

* * *

The morning is cool and blustery; the wind sends leaves swirling and rustles the trees. It’s one big riot of red and orange and gold under the cool grey sky, and Brad loves it. “Man, what a great day!”

Claire shivers, clutching her coffee cup. “It’s a little chilly.”

“Here you go.” Brad reaches for her free hand, tucking it in his arm. “I’ll keep ya warm.”

Maybe it’s too forward, but she just smiles and leans closer to his side – to stay warm, of course – and he guesses, well, then it’s fine.

As they stroll aimlessly down the sidewalk, the river winding nearby, Brad takes a long, deep breath. “The air’s so fresh out here.”

Claire nods, tilting her head back to look up at the thick grey clouds. “It’s nice to get out of the city sometimes.”

“Yeah.” Brad’s a Jersey boy forever, but sometimes he wonders if maybe this isn’t the way to go. Fresh air, wide open spaces, the broad, endless horizon, and cornfields for miles. There’s a real charm in seeing where food _begins_ , watching its birth and growth and development and really getting to know the process.

He loves the city, in its way, but there are times he just needs _room_. Room to walk and run and explore and work and breathe.

The wind gusts sharply and Claire shivers, clinging a little more closely to his arm, her hair swirling around her shoulders. “Remind me why we’re out here?”

“We’re enjoying the fresh air.”

She huffs. “Right.”

 _There_ she is. That nice, reassuring bit of sarcasm that’s as much to tease him as it is to complain. That’s the Claire he knows and –

\- works with.

* * *

By the time they get back to the hotel, her cheeks are pink from the wind, her eyes bright, and he idly thinks she’s never been prettier.

And she doesn’t let go of his arm until they get back inside.

* * *

Pearl & Spice, June’s bakery, sits across the alley from Honeysuckle Brewing, and shares its parking lot, which seems like a wise decision.

As Hunzi and Kevin test out camera angles and microphone levels, June shows Claire her recipe book. “This was my Oma’s,” she explains, carefully turning the yellowed pages. “She wrote down everything by hand. Some of these go back well over a hundred years, and a lot of it was translated from her mother’s German books.”

“This is incredible.” Claire peers at the pages. “Wow, look at that springerle recipe.”

“Oh, my kids love those. I make them every Christmas,” June tells her. “But you were talking about cake, right? Not to brag, but my spice cake is the best cake in the entire state.”

June says it without a trace of ego, completely matter-of-fact, and Claire can’t help but grin. “Sounds perfect.”

* * *

As Kevin and Hunzi finish up with their equipment, Claire and June set out ingredients in the bakery’s spacious, sparkling-clean kitchen. Brad cheerfully drags over the heavy bag of flour, then perches himself happily on a stool in the corner to watch with his Yeti cooler full of tea.

“You excited?” June asks him.

“Yes, ma’am.” He mock-salutes her. “I’m here for moral support.”

“Brad doesn’t like cake,” Claire explains.

“You _don’t like cake?_ ” June looks stunned. “Then why are you here? This is a bakery. We’re making cake today.”

“Well – jeez. Y’know.” He shrugs, his ears going red. “Just here to help.”

June stares at him for a moment with amused fondness, then looks back at Claire. “So this is normal for you?”

“We don’t really do ‘normal.’”

“Uh-huh.” June’s trying to hide a smile, but she’s failing. “Okay then. Shall we get started?”

* * *

June is a natural in front of the camera; she’s blunt and cheerful and has a great sense of humor, and Claire could swear it feels just like cooking with her mother.

“You know, I think I forgot to take out the pan.” June looks around, wiping her hands on her apron. “Oh, darn it. It’s in the top cabinet back there. Let me get my stepstool out.”

“Ooh, wait. That’s what Brad’s good at.” Claire waves a floury hand at Brad. “Can you get that for us, please?”

“Oh, sure, sure, I see how it is! Just gettin’ _used_ for my altitude!” Brad heaves a dramatic sigh. “ _Fine_ , Claire.”

Claire rolls her eyes, shaking her head even as she smiles at June. “Thanks, Brad.”

“You see how she treats me, June?” he asks. “No respect. I get _no_ respect!”

The two women laugh at that. “Oh, honey.” June shakes her head. “You’re way too much like my husband.”

Brad beams at them, settling back down on his seat nearby. “I’ll take that as a compliment, thank you very much.”

Claire laughs, but she can’t help noticing June’s eyes flicking from Brad, to her, back to Brad.

* * *

Once the finished cake is out of the oven, cooled, and frosted, June hands Brad a piece. “Here you are, Mr. Doesn’t-Like-Cake.”

He takes a big bite, and his face lights up as he chews enthusiastically and swallows, nodding. “Oh man, this stuff is _fantastic_ , June!” Brad gives her an enthusiastic thumbs-up. “I may not be a cake guy, but it’s _so_ good. You got my vote for sure.”

“There you have it, everyone.” Claire shrugs at the camera. “I guess Brad finally likes cake.”

“It’s not just about _cake_ , Claire,” he tells her earnestly. “It’s –”

“Brad, please, no –”

“- more about the _friends_ we make along the way.”

Brad grins toothily at the camera, Claire sighs, and June gives him a long look. “Brad, honey, forgive my language, but that is some kind of bullshit right there.”

* * *

Michael and June invite all four of them over for dinner that night – no cameras, no work, just good food and company – so as the sun sets, the Bon Appétit crew find themselves in the Fischerkellers’ bright, warm brick home on the outskirts of town, overlooking the Chippewa River.

Hunzi and Kevin eagerly volunteer to do literally anything that isn’t cooking, so June hands them plates and cutlery and tells them to make sure the table looks nice. Brad offers to help Michael with the chicken out on the back porch (“That means watch the grill and drink beer,” June explains to Claire with an amused, affectionate smile), and Claire looks around the big, tidy kitchen. “June, how can I help?”

June hands her a knife. “Veggies are all here, spinach and arugula are in the fridge.”

Claire slices carrots and radishes and cucumbers as June turns down the heat under the pot of spaetzli. She opens the oven to take a peek, and the warm, savory aroma of fresh bread makes Claire’s mouth water. “What is that? It smells amazing.”

“Pretzel bread! My own personal recipe,” June explains. “I started adding black pepper and just a little bit of lemon juice, and it works wonders.”

Claire grins. “Brad’ll be thrilled. He’s got a real thing for black pepper and sumac.”

“Really?” June wipes her hands on a towel, thinking. “Sumac, hmm? I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Oh, yes. As far as Brad’s concerned, sumac belongs in 90% of food. And garlic belongs in all of it.”

“Well, he’s right about the garlic.”

* * *

Once dinner’s on the table, everyone sits down to find that Kevin and Hunzi have folded the napkins into slightly lopsided roses.

“Very nice,” June says, looking over her napkin approvingly. “You boys didn’t mention how multi-talented you are.”

“We googled it,” Hunzi admits.

“We tried to do swans, but they kept falling over,” Kevin adds.

The food is outstanding: juicy, honey-mustard grilled chicken; fresh salad with a bright, tart vinaigrette; garlicky homemade spaetzli; and the pretzel bread, which Claire has to admit is one of the best breads she’s ever tasted.

“Well, gotta hand it to you folks.” Michael raises a glass. “We’ve already had half the city asking about these videos. And from what we can tell, there’s gonna be a nice big bump in business. So thanks.”

“I was out getting groceries a few days ago,” June adds, “and when I was at the register, this teenage girl – I have no idea who she is – asked me if it’s true that ‘Claire from the test kitchen’ was coming here. When I said yes, her eyes just lit up. Safe to say, you’re already popular.”

Claire smiles bashfully and looks down at her plate, but Brad just grins. “Oh, Claire’s popular everywhere she goes. Ain’t a new thing.”

She’s blushing furiously and studying her fork, so she misses the significant look that passes between June and Michael.

* * *

They’re just finishing dinner when there’s a shuffle of feet on the front porch, and then the front door swings open.

“Mom? Dad?”

June brightens. “Oh, hello girls, we’re in here!”

Two young women walk into the dining room with perfectly matched blonde hair, bright blue eyes like Michael’s, and wide smiles just like June’s.

“Claire, Brad, Matt, Kevin, these are our youngest daughters, Dani and Cass.” June smiles fondly. “Identical twins, as you can see. They’re seniors at UW.”

Brad feels Claire’s nails digging into his knee, and a glance at her shows that she’s hiding a smirk as unsuccessfully as he is, because the two girls are staring at Kevin and Hunzi with unmistakable interest.

“You’re from New York, right?” Dani asks. “From the magazine?”

“Uh, yeah.” Kevin nods. “Nice to meet you.”

The twins look at each other for a long moment of silent communication before Cass speaks. “Actually, the there’s a really good band playing at the Water Street Tavern tonight. If any of you are interested in coming along –”

Her voice trails off expectantly as she and Dani very pointedly stare at Hunzi and Kevin, and Brad can feel Claire shaking with stifled laughter.

Matt and Kevin glance at each other for a second, then Hunzi turns to Brad and Claire. “You guys –”

Brad waves a hand. “I’m good here, bud. Claire?”

“Yeah, me too.” She smiles at them. “You go. Have fun.”

Hunzi hands Brad the keys to the rental, and he and Kevin thank June and Michael before leaving with the girls.

“You boys behave!” Brad calls after them. “Your mother and I expect you home by eleven!”

“Okay, Dad!” Hunzi yells back, and Claire dissolves into giggles.

* * *

Despite the Fischerkellers assuring them that they’re guests and they don’t have to, Brad and Claire insist on helping clean up after dinner’s over.

June takes point on cleaning, surveying the dishes, handing Brad a dish towel, pointing out the food storage containers to Claire, asking her husband to wipe down the table and collect placemats and napkins.

“You run a tight ship here, June!” Brad tells her, drying the roasting pan as Claire bags up the leftover chicken. “I like it.”

“Fun has no place in my kitchen,” she tells him, opening the dishwasher to put plates inside. “I try to make sure everyone’s miserable and working hard.”

Claire cocks an eyebrow. “Just like the test kitchen when you were manager, Brad.”

“ _Hey!”_ He glares at her in mock outrage. “Not even _close_ to true. Everybody had tons of fun.”

She can’t hide the smile at that, because Brad as kitchen manager was still just 100% Brad and she simultaneously never understood it, and felt grateful for it every day.

“Gotta keep the boss happy, right, Claire?” Michael nods. “That’s what I do.” He leans in to press a kiss to his wife’s cheek. “That’s why we work so well.”

“I think we do,” June agrees. “We haven’t murdered each other yet, anyway.”

“So – how long have you been married?” Claire asks.

“It’s been – oh, gosh.” June thinks. “You’d think I’d know this.”

“Thirty-some years? Thirty-five?” Michael counts on his fingers. “I think it’s thirty-six.”

“That sounds right,” June agrees. “Thirty-six years, then. Against all odds.”

Claire raises an eyebrow. “What does that mean?” 

“Our first date was a complete disaster,” June explains.

Michael nods. “Could’ve been better.”

Claire looks up at Brad, her eyes sparkling. She loves a good story. “What happened?”

“Well, it was pouring rain,” June starts, rinsing off wineglasses. “He picked me up at home, and as we drove to the supper club, we discovered that the roof of the car leaked. By the time we got to the restaurant, I was freezing, because my dress was wet.”

Brad winces. “Oof.”

“Oh, hon.” June shakes her head. “That’s just the beginning.”

“So we got to the supper club,” Michael explains, “and I found out they don’t have our reservation, so the maître d’ told us it’d be a twenty minute wait. So we sat down. And we waited.”

June nods. “After forty-five minutes, we just decided to leave.”

“Back out into the rainstorm, back to my leaking car, trying to find somewhere that was open. But everything was booked up, and we were _so_ tired and hungry.”

Claire tucks the leftover noodles in the fridge. “So what did you do?”

“We ended up at Dairy Queen,” June laughs. “Because it was open, and we were starving.”

“And then, because the night wasn’t perfect enough, my car got a flat tire on the way back, so June was nice enough to hold up the umbrella while I changed the tire, two blocks away from her house.” Michael spreads his arms. “There you have it. Our first date.”

“Wow.” Claire shakes her head. “That’s – that’s really something.”

“Kinda amazing,” Brad agrees. “But you still decided to do a second date? Even after that?”

“Even after that,” June nods, and her husband chuckles.

“Well, after that, it couldn’t get much worse, could it?”

* * *

Brad drives them back to the hotel in comfortable silence. Claire sits contentedly in the passenger seat, warm and sleepy, full from a delicious meal, watching the trees and buildings go by.

“Hey there.” Brad’s voice rouses her from her almost-doze. “You still with me, Half-Sour?”

“Mmm, yeah. Sorry.”

He grins at that. “Ah, it’s okay. But I’m wakin’ you up if we get lost.”

Claire nods, resting her head on her seat. “Okay.”

Her eyelids are just starting to dip again as they pull into the hotel parking lot, and Brad pulls easily into a parking space. “Home sweet home, Claire.”

“Mmm.” She blinks, trying to wake herself up enough to get inside. “Yeah.”

They walk into the hotel together, and is it just her imagination, or is the back of his hand brushing hers?

“That was nice,” he says idly as they wait for the elevator together. “Nice to be off-camera for once.”

“Yeah,” she agrees. “Kind of relaxing.”

“Aren’t they great? June and Michael?”

“They’re the best,” she says softly.

Brad nods. The elevator dings and opens in front of them, and he gestures for her to go first.

“Y’know,” he says, pressing the button for their floor, “June kinda reminds me of you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah – well, kinda.” He shrugs. His ears are red. “She’s got your sense of humor. I think that’s why I like her.”

Claire hums. She’s tired right now. It’s the dangerous kind of tired, the kind where she feels soft and small and just barely a few seconds away from blurting out everything she’s told herself to ignore.

They reach their floor, and it’s time to part; her room is on the left, his is on the right. And it _feels_ like the moment to stop and fumble for her keys and shoot him soft _How about a goodnight kiss?_ looks from under her lashes while the orchestra swells around them.

(It’s not, she knows. But it _feels_ like it.)

She’s about to say _Good night_ and head for her own room, but Brad surprises her. He brushes a gentle hand to the small of her back, leaning in, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.

It’s so quick, and she’s so transfixed by the warmth of his face, his lips, the careful steadiness of his hand on her back, that when he pulls a way it takes a moment for her eyes to flutter open.

“G’night, Claire.”

She stammers out her reply, and she doesn’t really catch her breath until the door of her room closes behind her.

* * *

Claire bites her lip, staring at the ceiling above her bed, before she finally huffs, rolls over, and grabs her phone off the nightstand.

No new messages.

She really knows she should just go to sleep, but for some reason she refuses to examine closely out of sheer stubbornness, she texts Brad.

_Good night_

She hits ‘send’ before she can talk herself out of it, sets her phone back down, and shuts her eyes.

( _Go to sleep, Claire. He’s probably_ -)

But then her phone buzzes, and she grabs it without hesitation.

_sleep tight_

She smiles softly and sends her response.

 _Don’t let the bedbugs bite_.

* * *

Friday morning is clear and sunny, so Hunzi and Kevin decide to take the car around town and get B-roll and exterior shots. With the morning off, Claire sleeps in, takes time to dry her hair, and half-heartedly scrolls through a handful of recipe blogs before she hears her phone buzz with a text message.

It’s from Brad, of course. _you hungry? june mentioned theres a cafe down the street. I need lunch._

She taps out a quick reply. _I’m starving._

Instead of the reply she was expecting, there’s a knock on her door about twenty seconds later. Sure enough, she opens it to find Brad, grinning at her, hands in his pockets. “C’mon, let’s go get some chow. I could eat a fuckin’ horse right now.”

Claire grabs her jacket, double-checks to make sure she has her key card, and follows him out into the hallway. “When did Hunzi and Kevin get back last night?”

“A little before midnight, I think.” He shrugs. “Ol’ Hunz said they had fun, though. They liked the band. Although I asked, and he said they didn’t do any cow-tipping. Seems like a waste.”

“Brad, I don’t think cow-tipping is actually as common as they say.”

“Don’t be _ridiculous_ , Claire.” He rolls his eyes. “Why would people _say_ it if it wasn’t true?”

* * *

They end up at a cozy little diner down the street from the hotel. Claire slides into the seat across from Brad and starts scanning the menu.

“Hi, folks. I’m Melissa, I’ll be taking care of you today.” Their waitress walks up, a ruffly pink bistro apron tied over her oversized Packers jersey. “Can I get you started with something to drink?”

They both order iced tea, and she’s clearly about to turn when her eyes narrow, and she looks back and forth between them. “You’re the internet chefs from New York, right?”

Brad grins. “Yep! That’s us.”

“Oh, cool! My neighbor loves your videos. ” She grins at them affably. “She also told me if I meet you, don’t mention Starbursts.”

Claire lets out a laugh that feels more like a groan. “Oh, no. It’ll never end.”

“Sorry.” Melissa grins sheepishly. “But I hope you’re enjoying Eau Claire.”

“We are, for sure,” Brad assures her. “The traffic’s a hell of a lot better.”

* * *

They’re halfway through lunch when one of the farmers at a table near theirs pauses in the middle of a debate about the merits of John Deere versus Mahindra. He leans toward them. “Excuse me – you’re Brad and Claire, right? From Bon Appétit?”

Claire shoots Brad a startled look. “Uh – yes, we are.”

“Very cool.” He grins at them affably. “You know, I got my own little fermentation station back home.”

Brad grins. “Seriously?”

“Hell yeah! It’s not as fancy as yours, sure. But I tried making your giardiniera. Absolutely delicious.”

One of the other farmers nods. “Oh, yeah! My wife loves your videos. Laughed so hard that time y’all tried to make doughnuts.”

Brad and Claire share a look, and he sees the amused acceptance on her face. Apparently that’s their legacy: failing to make doughnuts. “Thanks, bud.”

The first farmer pulls an iPhone out of the front pocket of his coveralls. “Could we get a photo with you folks? My wife’s gonna be so jealous when I tell her I met you.”

Before they leave, the café manager comes out and asks if he can get a picture, too. And so lunch ends with Brad and Claire surrounded by every single person at the café, all beaming as the mailman, who had just come by to deliver the mail, obligingly takes the photo.

The manager grins, thanks them, and sends them on their way with free apple tarts. “Nice to meet you folks! See you at Oktoberfest!”

* * *

Oktoberfest is a whole town’s worth of party.

Rather than fight the traffic, the four of them walk from the hotel to find downtown completely taken over. Barricades block traffic, and the streets are full of tents, crowded with thousands of people, yelling and music and the crackle of food cooking on grills. Brad doesn’t have the mighty Chris Morocco super-nose, but he’s still transfixed. The cool night air is filled with vivid smells; the sharp tang of sauerkraut, rich, smoky bratwursts cooked on the nearby grills, the warmth of pretzels and mustard, cinnamon and bread and chocolate from baked goods. It’s intoxicating.

Claire seems to agree; she tugs on his arm. “I think I want to eat everything.”

“I’m with you,” he murmurs. “All right, let’s not get lost, hey?”

She keeps a firm grip on his arm as they work their way through the crowds, Hunzi and Kevin trailing behind with their gear, capturing it all for the people of the internet.

The beer tent is massive; it stands in the center of town, surrounded by crowds, and Brad waves to Michael, who’s got several employees working the Honeysuckle booth that takes up about half the tent. There’s plenty of variety, too; New Glarus, Spotted Cow, Toppling Goliath.

This place is the _best_.

Next to the beer tent, June’s got her own stand, where she and a few employees are selling soft pretzels and springerle and little cups of _Kasnudeln._ She waves to them too, beckons them over and hands them each a pretzel. “On the house, kids. Go have fun.”

* * *

He and Claire split up – way too many stalls to go one by one, so dividing and conquering seems like the wisest decision – and finally end up crowded together at the end of a bench, where they pool their food and cut things in half and steal bites.

“The fuck is this?” he mutters, picking up the bottle she brought back. “Eight hundred beers in the tent, and you bring back the one non-alcoholic thing around?”

“ _Brad!_ ” She looks up from her half of a pretzel to scowl at him. “It’s root beer. They make it locally. It’s actually really good.”

He shrugs, sniffs it, and takes a sip, smacking his lips. “Okay, I’ll admit, it’s not bad.”

“ _Not bad?_ It’s delicious.”

Brad shrugs. “Okay, okay. Not my thing. But I like it. Got a nice kick, ya know? Most root beer is way too sweet. This stuff’s got good spice.”

He steals one more sip before she swipes the bottle back from him. “Hey, get your own.”

(Neither Brad nor Claire sees the look that passes between Kevin and Hunzi, a silent conversation of _Now they’re sharing drinks?_ and _Are we gonna cut this out?_ )

* * *

Brad’s never heard polka-funk before, but he’s absolutely hooked now. The band – obviously hometown favorites – plays polka after polka on the main stage in front of the town hall, and the whole middle of town is a giant dance floor. Who knew so many people could polka?

Never one to shy away from a chance at fun, Brad finally convinces Claire to join him (in reality, he just sort of pouts and begs until she finally agrees, probably to shut him up), and he drags her out into the middle of the crowd and does his best to mimic what everyone else seems to be doing.

“See, Claire? Ain’t so bad!” He clasps her small hands in his and guides her around the floor, counting his steps carefully. One two _three_ and one two _three_ and –

It’s not so bad. At least, he doesn’t feel so bad. Claire’s so short that he has to ease up a little, using smaller steps, but she follows along, breathless with laughter as they meander across the ground, more by accident than through any kind of design.

They’re crowded by others, and he finally tugs her closer, wraps an arm around her waist and clasps her other hand, hoping they’ll stop bumping into other couples. Claire looks up at him in surprise; she’s biting her lip, her cheeks flushed, and for just a moment Brad’s convinced the polka is the most romantic dance on the planet.

He twirls her around and she laughs, turning easily as he pulls her back close, and he knows, he _knows_ this is great footage, Hunzi’s gonna –

The song ends, the band stops, the crowd pauses to cheer mightily, and Brad blinks. Oh. Right.

He claps with the rest of the crowd, whistles loudly, and finally turns back to Claire, who’s still flushed and bright-eyed.

“All right, Claire. We need more beer. And cheese curds.”

* * *

Brad enters, and promptly loses, the yodeling competition.

As he trots back down off the stage, Hunzi leans over to Claire. “Don’t worry, that’s going in the video. All of it.”

* * *

After some local guy with actual talent wins the yodeling prize, Michael and June take the stage, waving to the cheering crowd.

“All right, _Freunden!_ Time for everyone’s favorite part.” June claps her hands. “Time to crown this year’s Oktoberfest queen!”

The crowd roars, and a precious little pigtailed girl in a tiny dirndl and apron scampers up to the stage, hands them an envelope, and runs off.

“Ladies and gentlemen – _meine Damen und Herren_ –” Michael’s drawing this out with obvious enjoyment – “by overwhelming vote, this year’s Oktoberfest queen is…” He pauses, flipping open the paper, and grinning. “Miss Claire Saffitz!”

Brad turns to see Claire beside him, frozen, looking up with wide, startled eyes. She stares at the stage, then looks at him, as if she’s expecting him to translate whatever it is Michael just said.

“Claire!” He sets a hand on her shoulder, trying to point her towards the stage. “Claire, that’s you!”

“What?”

“You _won_ , Claire!” Brad’s laughing at this point, because he’s absolutely never seen her quite so dumbfounded.

There’s real, actual confetti fluttering around them, and Claire’s still so shell-shocked that Brad finally just walks her up to the stage, where Michael and June give her congratulatory hugs.

Brad’s about to trot back down the stairs, maybe steal a photo for his Instagram, but June catches his sleeve. “Not so fast, Prince Charming.”

“Pardon?”

June hands Brad a circlet of flowers, ribbons dangling from the back. “Care to do the honors?”

He takes it and turns to face Claire. She’s looking up at him with wide, sparkling eyes, her cheeks pink, a breathless smile on her lips, and it hits him so hard that for a few seconds he can’t breathe.

“Go on!” Michael urges him. “The queen needs her crown, son.”

Brad brushes her hair back with careful, gentle hands, then sets the crown on her head, tucking it over the soft strands. Alyssum and iberis and bellflowers and ice pansies and bachelors’ buttons and daisies twine through her hair, white and gold ribbons trailing down her back.

The crowd cheers as the last bits of confetti swirl around them, and through the yelling, a chant builds. _Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!_

Claire’s eyes go wide as she looks at Brad, then looks back at Michael and June in confusion. Michael shrugs. “Oh, sorry. I think most folks assume you’re a couple.”

Despite the powerful longing surging through his chest, the instinctive reaction to the thought of something he’s secretly imagined more times than he wants to admit, Brad sees the skittishness on her face. She’s intensely private when it comes to certain things, and the last thing in the world he wants is for her to clam up, shut down, push him away.

“Here, Claire. It’s okay.”

Brad leans in carefully and presses a soft kiss to her cheek, gentle and respectful. And maybe he lingers just a fraction of a second longer than necessary – maybe – but it’s nothing. It’s just for the crowd.

It’s the same warm touch he remembers from last night, and the breath she lets out is the same, too. He feels greedy, itching with _want_ , and the urge to turn her face, capture her lips, see if they’re as soft as he imagines –

“Congrats, Claire.”

He squeezes her hand one more time before tearing himself away, shuffling down the stairs as the crowd cheers and Claire waves. And the blush staining her cheeks is absolutely from the hundreds of people watching her, he knows.

There’s no possible way it’s because of _him_.

* * *

At Michael and June’s urging, Claire accepts a stein of beer and leads a toast for the crowd, after which her royal duties seem to be over, at least for now.

(Brad has, of course, texted a photo of Queen Claire to everyone at the test kitchen, and Molly texts back three seconds later, pledging her loyalty. Chris and Carla send congrats, Sohla sends a half-dozen balloon and confetti emojis, and Delany asks when she’s having Brad thrown in the dungeon, which hardly seems necessary.)

Brad can’t help noticing the crowd of local guys who come to offer her congratulations the minute she’s off the stage, and Claire’s got a beaming smile, but he knows her well enough to see it start to crack, the moment her nerves are starting to show through.

He doesn’t want to intrude, though – Claire’s anything but helpless – so he waits until she glances up and finds him, her eyes pleading silently, to step in.

“’Scuse me, guys. Hey, hey. Sorry to break it up this little court here,” he calls affably, striding in through the crowd, “but I gotta steal Her Majesty here for a bit. Video guys need her.”

It’s a bold-faced lie and she can obviously tell, but Claire flashes him a relieved smile, murmuring _sorry_ to her little crew of admirers as she follows Brad back out towards the front gates.

They duck around a corner into a side street, and Claire lets out a long breath. “Thanks.”

“You okay?”

She nods. “Yeah, just – it’s kind of a lot, you know?”

“Hunzi and Kev are gonna love it, though. You bein’ queen? Pure gold.”

Now that she’s away from the pressure of the crowd, she’s relaxing, he can see. Her shoulders are less tight, her face softer, and despite the cool night air, there’s still a flush in her cheeks.

She looks irresistibly pretty like this, blossoms in her hair, her eyes as deep and endless as the night sky overhead. And normally he can control it, he can remind himself that there’s nothing between them, but then sometimes she looks at him like this and he just can’t stop himself.

His gaze falls to her mouth. It’s bold, for him. For them. For this almost-but-not-quite dance they stay in, direct enough to hint at interest, but subtle enough to avoid outright rejection. And normally, this is when he’d pull back. Make a joke. Grin and retreat and let the moment dissolve into the energy of the night.

But this time, he doesn’t.

Her eyes go wide – she can see it, he knows, and even as she worries her bottom lip between her teeth, he can see her mind whirling a million miles an hour. But she doesn’t pull back, doesn’t look away.

So he takes a chance, brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, cups her cheek with gentle fingers. She swallows hard, and he feels her small hand pressed to his chest, careful and tentative.

“Claire –”

She looks up at him with those big, soft, liquid dark eyes, and whatever he was about to say vanishes as he leans in and kisses her.

And maybe he’s thought about it (he has) a few times (a lot) but what shocks him is how _real_ it feels.

This is no misty, fleeting vision, no half-formed, Claire-shaped echo hanging on the wisp of him waking up. She’s warm, her skin is soft, her mouth is plush and hot under his, and he can feel the gentle scratch of her fingernails as she threads her fingers through the soft curls at the nape of his neck.

She even kisses perfectly, thoroughly, her eyes shut tight, her mouth soft and careful and earnest, like she’s analyzed the situation and weighed her options and she’s determined to kiss him without making a mistake.

He finally, finally pulls away from her tempting mouth to breathe. His heart is hammering against his ribs, his whole body hot even in the nighttime chill, and there are so many stray thoughts rattling through his mind that he’s not even sure where to start.

But she wouldn’t be Claire if she didn’t overthink it. He can feel the tension ripple under her skin, the hesitation as she gets a moment to catch her breath and stop and think about just how reckless it is, making out here in a quiet street when there are two professional videographers whose job is to follow them around and film everything they do.

But just because he can see it coming doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel the ache of loss as she steps back out of his arms, looking anywhere but at him. “Claire –”

“What are we doing?”

“I – just –” Brad doesn’t have the words, doesn’t know how to parse the exact turn of phrase that could possibly explain the magnetic pull he feels around this woman, the way he’s wanted to kiss her for so long that he’s not sure he’s breathing right now. “I thought – ”

“I think –” She blinks and presses her fingers to her mouth, shaking her head softly, and he feels his heart stumble in his chest. “It’s – I can’t, I’m sorry –”

He watches her take another step back, turn away, walk back towards the festival gates, her arms around herself, and he still doesn’t have the words but he’s not sure they’d work anyway.

* * *

Claire slips back inside the festival gates, where she finds June.

“Claire? You okay, hon?”

“Yeah, sorry. I’m fine.” Everything is fine. It’s _fine_.

“Good.” June smiles. “Someone said the queen ran off. I figured I’d make sure everything was all right before the kingdom falls into anarchy.”

“I, uh. Sorry.”

Claire doesn’t know how to respond, because Brad Leone just kissed her in the middle of a street in Wisconsin and she still doesn’t know what the appropriate response is. She doesn’t know how she feels about it. She doesn’t know how she _should_ feel about it.

(It’s _fine_.)

“Claire – is something wrong? If you need a minute –”

“No, no.” She wipes her hands idly on her jeans. “I’m fine.”

Hunzi and Kevin make their way through the crowds, and Claire plasters on a smile. She’s getting good at it. She has to be, after all this video work. She can smile and thank everyone and shake a million hands while her mind is reeling

The mayor and a local reporter and a crowd of what seem like college kids come up to ask for pictures and quotes, and she slips back into her on-camera persona. Because Claire From The BA Test Kitchen might lose her cool, might groan and sigh and run out of ideas, but she never fails her audience, and that’s what she needs right now.

* * *

Brad knows Hunzi will be looking for him to get reactions to Claire’s big win and do a proper wrap-up before they finish tonight’s filming, but he can’t muster up the face he’ll need to put on, so he decides to stay in the quiet street and cool down for a moment.

So he drops heavily onto a nearby bench, letting out a sigh as he puts his head in his hands.

Maybe he shouldn’t have kissed her. But she kissed him back like she wanted it. Maybe he should have said something first? Did he miss something? Did he skip over a step?

_Now what?_

“Brad? That you?”

He looks up to find Michael leaning around the corner, squinting. “Oh, hey, Michael.”

Michael folds his arms. “Having issues?”

“Hmm? Oh, ah, no.”

To his surprise, though, Michael sits down on the bench next to him. “Well, June saw you two out here. Said she thought you were having sort of a private moment. And now you’re all alone, looking like you’re a mess. Something’s wrong.”

Oh, great. Just what Brad needs. Clarity’s never been his strong suit. His communication skills tend to get tangled at a pretty basic step. The nuance of his relationship with Claire Saffitz exists far past that, and the thought of trying to explain it to someone else makes his head hurt.

(And he’s fairly sure this is the kind of thing she’d prefer stay private, anyway. The last thing they need is for some local newspaper to get wind of – of – whatever _this_ is.) 

“I wouldn’t really know where to start.”

Michael gives him a shrewd look, and Brad has the strangest feeling that the older man can see right through him.

“You and Claire have been making eyes at each other since you got here. I’m not blind, you know. Nor is June. We were actually wondering if you two were an item.”

So much for privacy.

“We kissed,” he admits. Fuck, since when did he turn into his awkward middle school self again? He can feel his ears going red. “We didn’t – I mean, we aren’t – it just kinda happened. And she ran off, and I don’t know what to do.”

“You like her.” It’s not really a question, but Brad nods anyway. Not like the entire internet hasn’t already figured _that_ out. “She means a lot to you? She’s as great as she seems, huh?”

At least that’s an easy question to answer. “She’s _amazing_.”

“Well, you know her better than I do.” Michael sits back. “What do you like about her?”

“What do I – fuckin’ hell, it’s _everything_.” Brad shakes his head. “It’s just everything. She’s beautiful, and she’s _so_ smart, and she’s so funny – and just – every time I’m around her, it’s like she just makes everything _better_.”

“You ever tell her that?”

Brad blinks. “You mean – just like – like that?”

“Why not?”

“Michael –” Brad shakes his head. “It’s not that simple.”

“Like I said, why not?”

“Because –” Brad’s so sure there’s a reason, but right now he’s struggling to figure out what it is. Because it can’t possibly be that simple. He’s certain of this. “Because we work together, y’know?”

Michael regards him with keen eyes. “What are you really afraid of, Leone?”

“If she says _no_.” It escapes him before he can stop himself, but it’s the truth. And it’s the first time he’s ever said it out loud. “She’s my best friend. And – and if I ruin that, I couldn’t – it’d be the worst.”

“But if she said _yes_ – if you know she would, you’d tell her the truth?”

Brad gives a rueful smile. “If I _knew?_ Wouldn’t even hesitate.”

“Hmm.” Michael nods slowly. “Can I offer some advice you didn’t ask for?”

“Please.”

“You find the right girl, you offer what she deserves. You dress up, take her to dinner at a nice place, take her somewhere to hear good music. Make it special.” Michael folds his arms. “Be honest with what you’re offering. Lay it all out there, and let her decide.”

“But –”

“Weren’t you two just kissing, about five minutes ago?”

“Well – yeah –”

“I think there’s a pretty safe chance you’ll get a _yes_ , son. And if she’s half as great as you tell me, she deserves to hear the truth. From you. In person.”

Well, when he says it like that, sure. It sounds easy. As if Brad could just walk up and pass Claire a note. _Marry me? y/n_.

Michael must sense his skepticism, because he holds up a hand, thinking for a moment. “Do you know how long June and I went steady before we got engaged?” Brad shakes his head. “Two months. That’s all it took. We both knew. And here we are, thirty-six years later, happier than ever. I wouldn’t trade a day of it.”

“Just – just like that? It was that easy?”

“Easy? No. Simple? Yes.” Michael shrugs. “If she’s worth it, Brad? Buck up and tell her. Unless you want to spend the next ten years mooning over her, wondering if you could’ve been happy.”

(There’s pretty much nothing Brad can think of that Claire’s not worth at this point.)

“Thanks, Michael.” Brad takes a deep breath. “I appreciate the advice.”

“I like you. You remind me of myself. And Claire’s a great gal.” Michael claps him on the shoulder. “Good luck.”

* * *

By the time Claire’s finished telling yet another reporter that no, Brad’s not a fisherman, and explaining how to spell her last name for the third time, Hunzi’s giving her the ‘we’ve got footage, let’s get a wrap’ thumbs-up, and she’s starting to think she might need one more beer.

She feels her phone buzz in her pocket, and flashes a smile at the fans crowded around. “Sorry, sorry, I just really need to –”

Her voice trails off as she taps in her code and finds a text message.

_I’m sorry if I freaked you out earlier, i didn’t mean to. can we please talk?_

(How is it possible? They’re just words on her phone screen, but they’re from _him_ , and it makes her catch her breath.)

She looks up instinctively, and he’s there, hanging around the edge of her little personal crowd, watching her with a look she’s not used to seeing from him. Brad doesn’t usually do _shy_. When he does, it means something _matters_.

There are one million feelings caught in her throat, and she knows, with pristine, crystal clarity, that it’s all up to her. He’ll back off if she wants him to. And if she just ignores it, he’ll do the same.

(But there’s only one thing she’s found that fixes 87% of her problems: _Hey, Brad!_ )

So she shoves her phone back into her pocket and stretches up on her toes, waving to him. “Brad! Over here. Don’t make me do this all alone.”

His eyes brighten, his smile lights up his whole face, and she feels something warm unfold inside her, as if all the confusion and nervousness is dissolving into the simple bright flame she can only call _affection_.

 _He gets it_.

Brad edges his way through the crowd, apologizing profusely as he bumps people’s elbows. When he gets to her, he brushes a hand on her elbow. It’s a brief touch, careful, a question. _Are we okay?_

Claire leans into his side with a soft smile. “Hey.”

“You tryin’ to take all the glory on me, Half-Sour?” His eyes are sparkling,

“Why not?” she teases back. “ _I_ got the crown.”

* * *

Outside the main gates, where it’s quieter, Hunzi finds the perfect lighting between two streetlamps. “Okay, final thoughts and you’re done, guys.”

Claire and Brad take turns recounting the food, the beer, the music, the weather that just happened to be perfect. This part doesn’t need to be long-winded, they know; Hunzi will cut it for just the highlights, so they don’t bother getting encyclopedic.

Finally, Hunzi looks down at his notes. They’re getting close to being done. Kevin looks tired. “So Claire, did you have fun?”

“Are you kidding? I got a crown.” Hunzi grins broadly as Brad laughs, and Claire shrugs, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Honestly, though, it – it’s a lot of fun. I mean, it’s hectic, and busy, but I had a great time. Even without the crown. Although, you know, that didn’t hurt.”

Brad bumps her shoulder gently. “So, would you say, you, ah – you glad we came? Any regrets?”

She meets his eyes, bright and clear.

“No regrets.”

* * *

Kevin starts packing away their equipment while Hunzi ducks back into the festival to grab more food. “You guys wanna stay?” he asks Claire. “There’s a shit ton more beer.”

“Actually, I’m kind of tired,” Claire lies. “I was thinking of heading back.”

“I’ll walk with you,” Brad offers. “Been a long day. I’m ready to hit the hay, myself.”

* * *

They’re a block away from the festival, out of Kevin’s earshot, when Claire finally works up the nerve to say it. “I’m sorry.”

He looks down at her quizzically. “For what?”

“For – panicking.” Her face gets hot, but she pushes on. “I don’t always process things well. And I shouldn’t have just – run off.”

She almost expects him to brush it off, maybe say something self-deprecating about how he didn’t give her any warning, but instead, Brad stops.

He stands perfectly still, right there in the middle of the sidewalk. They’re standing in the golden half-light of the streetlamps, surrounded by dark storefronts, and Claire suddenly has the intense, prescient feeling that he’s about to change everything.

“Claire.” He clears his throat, rubs the back of his neck. Takes a deep breath and meets her gaze squarely. His eyes are _so_ blue, and for a moment she can’t really think about anything else. “Claire, I – I been doing a lot of thinking tonight, and – just – just go with me, okay?”

She doesn’t know what he means. But that doesn’t matter right now. “Okay.”

“Good.” He hesitates for a second, and finally speaks, his words tumbling over each other like he’s afraid they won’t all get out. “Claire – Claire, I think you’re _amazing_. You’re so fuckin’ smart, and you’re so pretty, and – no matter what’s going on, I just always want to be around you, all the time. And it’s like every day, you just walk into the kitchen like pure sunshine, and I just stand there watching you, thinking about how much _better_ everything is around you because you’re the most incredible woman I’ve ever met, and – and if you wanted – would you like to have dinner with me? – sometime?”

It takes a few seconds for her shell-shocked brain to pick up the pieces and sort through them.

Brad _likes_ her.

He _really_ likes her.

Her face is warm, her heart turning soft flips in her chest, as Claire reaches for his hand, twining her fingers through his.

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

Relief dawns on his face. He looks down at their twined hands, and he brushes his thumb gentle over her knuckles. “Good. That’s – good.”

“Uh-huh.”

Claire feels unbearably, effortlessly happy. Like somehow all of _his_ joy is welling up between them, some bright, clear fountain that just never ends.

And she tugs him down for a kiss, soft and gentle, and everything _has_ changed, simple and silent and perfect.

* * *

He kisses her goodnight in the middle of the hotel hallway.

No sooner is her door shut behind her than Claire tugs the flower crown out of her hair, setting it carefully on the nightstand, and pulls out her phone to find that Brad texted her three seconds ago.

_miss u already_

* * *

The next morning, before meeting Claire for breakfast, Brad calls an old friend. “Hey, Davy! Long time no see.”

“Brad! What’s going on, Mr. Celebrity Chef?”

Brad chuckles. “Work, ya know. The usual. Hey, ah – you still running back of house at Merla?”

“Sure am. Whatcha need?”

“A reservation. Any chance you can get me in for two next week?”

“I’ll talk to the maître d’, buddy. I’m sure I can get you in.” Davy sounds faintly amused. “Kinda fancy for you, ain’t it? You bringing someone special?”

“Oh, yeah.” Brad smiles. “She’s the best.”

* * *

_(one year later)_

Michael’s at his computer, checking his email, when he smiles and looks back over his shoulder. “June? Hey, June! We got an email from Brad.”

She leans over his shoulder, squinting to read. “Oh, look at that!”

Attached, they find a photo – Brad and Claire beaming at the camera, her arms wrapped around him, a Dairy Queen sign visible above their heads.

June smiles knowingly. “See that sparkle?”

“What do you mean?”

She points at the photo. “Look at Claire’s left hand.”

The email’s a short one: _driving up to visit Claire’s parents – we stopped at your favorite restaurant. give June our best! – Brad_

_ps – thanks for everything_


End file.
